


Nil Inultum Remanebit

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7081078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HJ takes what he wants from Nelson, when he wants it.  Darkfic.  Could be read as either dubcon or noncon, with abusive elements.  Read the tags for warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nil Inultum Remanebit

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. 
> 
> Title translates to "nothing will remain unpunished," from the hymn "Dies Irae (Day of Wrath)".

Rolf catches Nelson by surprise in the locker room, stalks up behind him and clamps his huge hand down over Nelson’s mouth. “It’s me,” he says. “No talking.” This is going to be quick and quiet. He crams his other hand down the front of Nelson’s pants, roughly cupping him until he feels Nelson’s cock begin to swell. He loves how defenseless Nelson is, how he could just as easily snap his neck as get him off. The thought makes him hard almost immediately. There’s a lot about himself that he knows is wrong. 

By the time Rolf is ready, Nelson is also erect and panting against the hand over his mouth. Rolf uses his other hand to work Nelson’s pants down just below his ass, just enough for Rolf to fuck him. 

“Spit,” he says, holding his hand below Nelson’s mouth. Nelson is good at doing what he’s told — most of the time.

Nelson turns his head as far as he can, trying to face Rolf. “I don’t want—“

Rolf strikes him with a sharp boxer’s jab to the cheek. At such close proximity it’s not terribly forceful, but Nelson needs to be reminded that he doesn’t tolerate back-talk. “I said spit. No talking.” After only a moment’s hesitation, Nelson spits into the hand that hit him. At times like this, when he can humiliate Nelson and still have his obedience, it’s the closest thing to love he’s ever felt for him. 

He uses his wet hand to slick himself a little. It’s not going to be enough, but both of them like a little roughness. He tugs down his own pants and lines his thick member up with Nelson’s ass. The moistened head of Rolf’s cock barely fits into the tight hole without any preparation. Nelson squirms and makes pathetic noises through clenched teeth, bracing his hands against the lockers in front of him. With a growl, Rolf snaps his hips and buries his cock all the way inside, making both of them hiss at the scrape of flesh on flesh. 

Nelson turns his face back toward Rolf again, this time in the other direction, revealing the yellow stain of an old bruise around his eye. He’s caught somewhere between pain and pleasure, but all Rolf can think of is that he wants to give him more bruises to wear on his face. He winds his hand into Nelson’s perfect blond hair and slams his face into the wall of lockers once, then twice. Rolf seizes him by the chin and turns his face to each side to assess the damage. He has cuts on his forehead and lip, bloodied and beautiful and completely under Rolf’s control. He looks dazed and his eyes are unfocused, but he’s conscious and whimpering, and the pitiful, vulnerable sounds only heighten Rolf’s arousal. 

This is probably rougher than Nelson would prefer, in the back of Rolf’s mind he knows that, but he doesn’t care right now. Nelson might be a sissy, but he can take it. Rolf is the one in charge here, and he’s going to do as he pleases. He fucks him as hard as he can stand, pumping his fist up and down Nelson’s cock; he slides his other hand to Nelson’s throat and pulls him against his own body with bruising fingers. “You worthless little faggot,” he growls in his ear, bestial and fearsome. “You love it when I fuck you raw, when I hurt you, when I use you. I know you love it.” Broken thing that Nelson is, he lets out a choked sob and comes all over Rolf’s hand. Rolf presses those fingers into Nelson’s mouth, forcing him to lick them clean, and it’s that final act of degradation that sends him tipping over the edge. He bucks up into the tight heat of Nelson’s body and snarls into his ear as he comes. 

Nelson sags back against him, and Rolf practically has to hold him up until he withdraws from him. They both pull their clothes back into place without speaking. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Nelson says. He gestures at his face, where the wounds are beginning to clot. “Bring me some ice for this.” 

Rolf crosses his arms and waits expectantly for Nelson to ask him again, this time with a little more respect. Instead, Nelson returns the stare, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes intense. Rolf doesn’t know if Nelson is about to lash out in anger or start to cry. “Just bring me the damn ice,” he snaps, and limps toward the showers. 

Rolf grumbles under his breath but puts his hood on and goes off in search of ice. It takes him longer than it should, but eventually he finds a cold compress. He returns to the locker room to find Nelson already dressed and looking at him defiantly, all but daring Rolf to say something about his reddened eyes. Rolf won’t be baited, and silently hands him the compress. 

“Thank you,” Nelson says, very evenly, and presses it to the wound on his forehead, no longer bleeding but visibly swollen and bruising. 

Rolf nods and shifts on his feet, wanting to leave Nelson to his self-pity. “Good night, then.” He’s halfway to the door when Nelson speaks again.

“Really,” he says, his voice icy cold. “You’re going to walk away from me right now.” Rolf sighs to himself and turns back to face him. “I almost blacked out, you know. Because you— you can’t control yourself. You always have to take it too far.”

“I thought you liked for me to take charge,” Rolf growls, closing the distance between them again. “It couldn’t have been too bad, you didn’t seem to have any problem finishing.” 

Nelson’s mouth presses into a thin line and he stares at Rolf resentfully. “That’s why—” he begins, but at that moment Hollis enters the locker room and Nelson falls silent. 

“Evening,” Hollis greets them cheerfully as he gets his things from his locker, but his tone changes once he notices Nelson icing his face. “Nelly, what the heck happened to you? You weren’t on the patrol schedule for tonight.”

“I slipped in the shower,” Nelson says calmly. “Hooded Justice just brought me some ice.” Rolf nods his agreement. 

“Another accident, huh?” says Hollis. “I thought I told you to be more careful after the sprained wrist.” Hollis glances back and forth between the two other men; Nelson just shrugs in response. “Well, I’m about to head home, you want a lift?”

“Sure,” Nelson answers. “Thanks, Hollis. Good night, HJ.” He walks out with Hollis, slowly and carefully, and Rolf can hear him blaming the knee he had banged during his fall in the shower for his limping gait. 

Nelson will come back to him, he’s sure of it. Give it a few days, a week, maybe two at the outside, and he’ll tire of his petulance and resentment. Both of them know there’s something wrong with what they do, with how they are, but both of them want it too much to stop. He’ll come back. He always does. 

Rolf shuts off the locker room lights and leaves through the back door.


End file.
